


wanna feel that lovin' (when you come by)

by Talls



Series: maybe you’ll be coming over again [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Porn, Exes, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Break Up, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talls/pseuds/Talls
Summary: Andrew shouldn't have come to this stupid party in the first place. He knows better than this, knows better than to show up like a kicked dog every single time Neil Josten is in town.Most people avoid their exes, especially when their exes live out of town, but Andrew makes so many mistakes he could do it professionally.His fingers itch for a cigarette. That's not the only addiction he'll be indulging tonight.





	wanna feel that lovin' (when you come by)

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from nights - frank ocean, which is deeply correct as a song for this fic
> 
> if u wanna get into the mood, play it while reading this

Andrew steps outside into the night air, still warm from the summer sun. The noise of the party dies as soon as the door shuts behind him, and he breathes out a rare sigh of relief at the quiet. 

He shouldn't have come to this stupid party in the first place. He knows better than this, knows better than to show up like a kicked dog every single time Neil Josten is in town. He wonders if his teammates have noticed which parties he shows up to, which players are always at attendance. Then again, he doesn’t think any of his teammates actually give enough of a shit to track him. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette. It’s been a month since his last one, but that doesn’t mean anything. The longest he’s ever stayed clean was six months, and that was years ago. He doesn’t have a pack on him tonight, doesn’t know if he’s relieved or frustrated at that. He mostly feels numb. 

The door opens behind him. 

“Need a cigarette?” a voice says behind him before the door shuts again. Andrew closes his eyes, feels a little sick to the stomach. Neil walks over to Andrew, stands in his periphery. Andrew thinks about how he could answer the question. _I stopped smoking. I’m trying to get clean. I’m trying to not want things anymore. Go back inside and leave me alone._

Wordless, Andrew holds out a hand, and waits for Neil to deposit one cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. Neil moves to light it. The lighter illuminates the caverns of Neil’s face, deepens the hollows beneath his eyes, lengthens the shadows cast by the sharp line of his cheekbones. His auburn hair catches the flame, and for a second he looks demonic, looks like hellfire and temptation and sin. 

The moment passes, and suddenly, Neil just looks tired. He looks like he hasn’t been eating enough. Maybe Andrew could order them some butter chicken and potato naan from that one restaurant Neil actually considers authentic. It would do Neil some good to indulge himself. 

Then again, Andrew thinks, as he inhales the acrid smoke, that’s exactly what they’re doing. 

“It was a good game,” Neil says, forging on valiantly when Andrew rolls his eyes in dismissal. “It was. You’re always a nightmare in goal, but you were especially good yesterday.” 

“Does this count as foreplay to you?” Andrew bites. Neil makes eye contact and then drops it, turning his gaze to his shoes. Andrew goes back to his cigarette. “Since when do you keep cigarettes on you anyways,” Andrew asks, glaring at the ember on the end of his newly acquired cancer stick. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” 

“I don’t,” Neil says. “Other people do, though, and people at parties like you more when they can bum a smoke.” That’s Neil through and through. Participating in something just enough to be well-liked and overlooked. Until Exy, Andrew doesn’t think Neil was ever passionate or engaged in anything in his life. 

After Exy, it was Andrew. Then it wasn’t Andrew anymore. 

“There’s fifty different smokers at this party, have you given one to all of them?” Andrew asks, and he sounds jealous, sounds bitter, like an ex. The thought almost makes Andrew recoil. 

“Only you,” Neil says. The words hang in the night air, suspended with Andrew’s breath. 

Andrew drops the cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. “Let’s go,” Andrew says, turning to his car. Neil follows silently, moving into the passenger seat of Andrew’s Maserati. 

Andrew knows Neil came with someone, knows Neil should probably let them know he’s leaving. Maybe Neil already did. Maybe he knew Andrew was a sure thing as soon as he left the house, and told his friend that he wouldn’t be coming back. It’s not as if he was wrong. 

“Can I play some music?” Neil asks. Andrew turns to him for a second, trusting his face to convey his disbelief. “I mean, from one of your playlists, obviously,” Neil clarifies, and Andrew nods, hands his phone over. 

“Same password,” Andrew says, and Neil nods, quick fingers dancing on the screen before opening up Andrew’s Spotify app. Andrew hasn’t changed his password in years. It used to be sunrise. Then, for a brief period of time it was abram. Then, and now, it is death. The axial truths of Andrew’s existence. 

Nights filters on through the speakers, the bass line reverberating through the soles of Andrew’s feet. Andrew focuses on the highway. It’s late enough that all of the lanes are empty. Andrew’s pushing the speed limit and the engine is purring. The lights as they flash by are almost hypnotic. Neil curls against the door, stares at Andrew’s profile. His fancy suit jacket and ironed button down crumple up as he slouches, but Neil doesn’t seem to notice or mind. 

It’s a twenty minute drive to Andrew’s apartment, but the drive seems endless in a way, outside the rules of time or space. It’s just Andrew and Neil, and the music and the road, at infinitum. Nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. 

They pull into Andrew’s building’s parking lot, and make their way to Andrew’s apartment. Andrew unlocks the door and steps inside, Neil a silent presence at his back, close enough for Andrew to be aware of him. Andrew goes to the kitchen area, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt while Neil takes off his shoes and jacket.

“Did you have dinner already?” Andrew asks. There was some takeout in the fridge, maybe Andrew could get him to eat. Andrew turns around to ask if Neil wanted something, but the words dry out in his mouth when he sees how close Neil has gotten. He’s not close enough to be encroaching on Andrew’s personal space, but his gaze is intent and scorching. 

“I’m not hungry,” Neil says, voice as mild as ever. His eyes are focused on Andrew’s lips, his pupils blown wide, swallowing his irises. Andrew steps forward. Neil’s eyes never leave Andrew’s face. 

Andrew reaches out one hand and places it on Neil’s chest, and he can feel Neil’s sharp inhale. His hand slides up Neil’s torso until he’s cupping Neil’s neck, Neil’s pulse thready and rushed under his thumb. Or maybe that’s his own pulse, just as shaky. Neil swallows. 

“Yes or-” Andrew starts, and Neil doesn’t let him finish, just gasps out a _yes_ and pushes forward into a kiss. Andrew steps forward, pushing Neil up against the counter, forces his hand into Neil’s hair and yanks. 

Neil lets out a harsh sound against Andrew’s lips like he’s been shot, before he pulls back, drags his lips up Andrew’s cheek. “Where can I touch you?” Neil breathes against Andrew’s ear. 

“Waist up,” Andrew says, before pulling Neil back to his lips. Neil moves his hands to frame Andrew’s face, curls his fingers into Andrew’s hair. It always goes like this. They go months without touching each other, and every time they reunite, Andrew thinks maybe it will be the time that it just won’t work, and Andrew can finally start moving on, and every time, Andrew is wrong. 

Neil tastes just as good as he did the first time Andrew kissed him, back when they were in college and infatuated with each other. He still gasps when Andrew bites his lower lip, and he still pushes his fingers through Andrew’s hair like he’s trying to give Andrew a scalp massage, and he still shivers when Andrew opens his mouth. 

Andrew never understood it, how one kiss with Neil could so thoroughly dismantle him. He’s never found anything or anyone who can make him feel this intensely, who can pull at the deepest recesses of his mind and draw forth emotions he didn’t know he still had. Andrew’s hands flex at Neil’s hips and Neil pushes forward into Andrew’s body, already pressed flush but still not close enough. Andrew shifts his leg so it presses between Neil’s thighs, and Neil keens. 

Andrew draws back suddenly, leaving Neil against the counter, lips red and wet, eyes blown black. Andrew takes the time to ingrain the picture into his mind, before he reaches out and grabs Neil’s belt buckle. 

“Bed,” Andrew growls, before pulling Neil towards the bedroom. Neil goes willingly, stripping out of his clothes efficiently on the way. All these years, and Neil still trusts Andrew with his scars. By the time Andrew gets out of his clothes, Neil is already sitting on the bed in front of Andrew, running his eyes over Andrews body like he’s committing it to memory. Andrew reaches forward, touches Neil’s cheek, lets his thumb linger on Neil’s full bottom lip. 

Neil sways forward and presses a kiss against Andrew’s stomach, and that’s much too intimate for what this is supposed to be. Andrew pushes Neil back, and keeps pushing until Neil’s back hits the bed. 

Andrew follows him down. 

If Andrew shuts his eyes, focuses on just the feel of Neil’s hands and lips and body, —the way his scars pucker his skin, the way he breaks out in goosebumps when Andrew sucks his earlobe, the way his body goes liquid when Andrew holds him down, — he could be back in their shitty student housing apartment, so sure that life was finally giving them what they deserved. So sure that this was it for them. 

Neil usually isn’t this loud, stifling his little gasps and moans, biting his lip or the inside of his cheek to keep together. Now though, he doesn’t seem to have any such filter. Andrew sneaks a hand down and wraps it around Neil’s cock, and Neil keens, arching up against the touch, burying his face in Andrew’s neck against the sensation. 

“Fuck, wait, Andrew,” Neil babbles. Andrew immediately pulls back, but Neil keeps a hand in his hair, holding him in one place, “don’t go, no,” Neil begs. 

“What do you need?” Andrew asks, and Neil shudders, skin covered in goosebumps thanks to the new absence of contact. He squirms under Andrew’s gaze, so Andrew swings low, holds himself above Neil’s body so there’s less than an inch of space between them. “I said, what do you need?” Andrew murmurs into Neil’s ear. 

“You,” Neil says, before a hasty, “I mean, your dick.” Andrew stills. It’s been a long time since they did that. Neil doesn’t take it as a warning, because he’s never met a warning in his whole life, just keeps going. “I’ve almost forgotten how it feels, you know,” he muses, almost conversationally, as if he’s doing this to Andrew on purpose. “The stretch. The ache. The way you would press in on that first stroke. How you would hit that one spot-“ 

Andrew gets off.

Of Neil. He gets off of Neil and then moves to the bedside drawer, pulling out the rarely used tube of KY and a condom. 

“Start without me,” Andrew says, tossing the lube on Neil’s bare chest. Neil grins wolfishly up at him, coats his fingers liberally and reaches behind himself. Andrew was probably supposed to do something while Neil was prepping, but he can’t actually look away from the sight. 

Neil’s long legs are crooked and splayed apart, and there’s a flush spreading up his chest and his cheekbones. His eyes are shut with pleasure and he’s smiling a little bit, rocking back onto his own fingers. His cock is hard, leaking a bit at the tip, but that seems to not be a high priority on Neil’s list. Andrew trails his fingers up Neil’s thigh, relishing the shiver Neil offers in return. Neil’s eyes don’t open.

Andrew drops the condom on the bed, leans in and retraces the path his fingers took with his tongue, reaches up and flicks one of Neil’s nipples, coaxes every noise he knows out of Neil’s body. If this is his first time in a while, Andrew wants to make it memorable. 

Neil winds tighter and tighter, voice getting louder and louder. Andrew drags the tip of his fingernail over the length of Neil’s dick, and Neil’s eyes fly open on a shout. His hand goes out to grab Andrew’s wrist and he holds it still, trembling, before letting go. 

“Fuck, okay, I’m ready, come on let’s go,” Neil says. 

“What was that?” Andrew asks.

“Don’t be a prick,” Neil says and Andrew very nearly snickers. The wrapper finally opens and Andrew rolls the condom onto his dick. 

“Still yes?” Andrew asks, positioning himself between Neil’s legs.

“I told you not to be a prick,” Neil says. “Yes, obviously- oh.” Andrew smirks at the sound of Neil cutting himself off, as he presses forward. Neil did a good job prepping, but Andrew can tell that it’s been a minute since Neil has done this.

Neil’s hands scrabble in Andrew’s hair for purchase, and he pulls Andrew down into a gasping approximation of a kiss. Andrew gives Neil a moment to acclimate. 

“Andrew, for the love of god, would you move?” Neil groans. And, okay, Andrew can do that. In fact, Andrew would like to do that. 

After that things get a little less funny and a lot more incoherent. Andrew buries his face in Neil’s neck, runs his hands over his sides and arms. Neil digs his nails in Andrew’s shoulder blades, moans profanity and filth in at least five distinct languages, tugs at Andrew’s hair, clutches at his hand like a dying man asking for a benediction. Neil’s legs are hitched over Andrew’s hips, and their desperate movements against each other are building to synchrony. 

 

Andrew pulls back. “Look at me,” Andrew says, purposefully slowing down just enough for Neil to squirm. Neil’s eyes flash open, the blue of his irises entirely devoured by his pupils. “Touch yourself,” Andrew says, and Neil gets a hold of himself, just in time for Andrew to switch angles. 

Neil’s eyes roll back into his head. “I told you to look at me,” Andrew says, cradling Neil’s head in his hands. Neil looks back at Andrew through hazy eyes, his whole body shaky with exertion. “Come now,” Andrew says, and Neil does, crying Andrew’s name, and Andrew follows right after, hips stuttering and stopping as Neil tenses around him. 

For a brief glorious moment, it’s just Andrew and Neil, intertwined and united in every conceivable way, feeding into each other, no end or beginning. 

Andrew pulls away first, against Neil’s arms, looped around his neck. He pads to the bathroom to grab a damp washcloth. When he gets back, Neil is sitting up, clear-eyed if still a bit flushed. He’s reading something on his phone. 

“Problem?” Andrew asks, tossing Neil the washcloth and pulling on his own boxers. 

“Kevin wants to know where I went,” Neil says ruefully. “He only just noticed that I left.” He drops the phone on the bedspread, cleaning himself up with the towel. Andrew watches carefully as he stands up, stretching his arms like a satisfied cat. There’s no sign of discomfort when he moves his legs, but Neil is stoic to a fault. 

“Don’t worry, you didn’t injure me,” Neil says, pulling on his pants. Andrew can’t read his voice, can’t parse the intonation. 

“Good,” is all Andrew says. Neil turns back to him, peering speculatively. Before Andrew can ask what he’s thinking, he starts buttoning up his shirt again. “Are you going back?” Andrew asks. 

“To the party? No. I was planning on going back to the hotel room, unless Kevin decides to sexile me,” Neil says. 

“You could stay here tonight, if you wanted,” Andrew says. He didn’t mean to say it. That doesn’t mean he didn’t mean it. 

Neil stills. “Yeah?” he asks, facing away from Andrew. 

“Yeah. I have a guest bedroom, you wouldn’t even need to sleep on the couch,” Andrew says. He still can’t read Neil at all. He has no idea if Neil even wants to stay. 

Neil unfreezes, doing his final button and leaving the bedroom. “I think it’d be best if I just went to the hotel room,” he says, walking briskly to the front door, grabbing his jacket. “I have an early flight. Thanks for the offer though.” He’s using his shiny press release voice, the voice he only uses for people he’s lying to or people he’s afraid of. 

Andrew doesn't know which option is worse. He doesn’t know what he said that was so wrong. He doesn’t know why he took Neil home in the first place. 

Andrew is still just in his boxers, in front of a Neil newly put together. It’s as if the last hour never happened. It’s always like this at the end of their visits. Andrew trying to say the right thing and entirely incapable of it. 

“I can drive you to the hotel,” Andrew offers, but Neil shakes his head. 

“I’ll get an Uber. You shouldn’t drive that far out of your way.” 

“I don’t mind,” Andrew says. Neil’s eyes flick to his, and Andrew hopes. 

“I gotta go,” Neil says. “You should eat something. Get some tamales from that place you think is actually authentic.” 

And then Neil is gone. Andrew stands in front of the door for a few minutes, before something in his periphery catches his attention. 

Neil left the carton of cigarettes on the counter. Andrew snatches them up, fully intending to throw them off the balcony. 

When he gets outside, the night air finally cooled enough to be chilly, he sits down and smokes one instead. Then another. Then another. 

He’ll quit tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually the first explicit work i've ever posted, and of course, of course, it's exes and angst and hell. i was told that this one is kinda weird actually, so let me know how you felt or if you felt anything at all special


End file.
